Communication Breakdown
by Marsh of Sleep
Summary: An overused premise. Soul tries to keep his cool but Maka makes things really difficult. M for language and combustible lemons. SoMa. Implied TsuStar.
1. Of Cats, Twerps, and Straining Pants

I do not own Soul Eater or Led Zeppelin. I also do not claim this to be anything more than humorous and steamy PWP.

**Part 1**  
><strong>Of Cats, Twerps, and Straining Pants<strong>

* * *

><p>Perhaps he should have seen it coming.<p>

Any sane person knows that one can only trust a witch so far, and having one living in his own apartment is the equivalent of signing a waiver to the security of his well-being. He won't even mention the tits. The bottom line is, Magical Cat Blair is the bane of his sanity, and is the sole reason he's in this whole mess.

Well, maybe that isn't entirely true. But she _had_ been the catalyst, for lack of a better term.

When Maka warned him earlier this morning that The Girls were coming over, Soul should have taken the hint and promptly vacated the apartment instead of shrugging and going into his man-cave of a room to go back to sleep. The wary look on her face had made clear the danger his manliness would be in, and that it was probably in his best interests to stay locked away until Monday.

He should have listened. She had tried. He acknowledges this, after the fact. He acknowledges that he absolutely should have seen this coming, or at least eaten breakfast beforehand. It doesn't make him feel any better, hunching over in the kitchen with a god-awful erection, but he gives credit where credit is due.

That damned cat! It wouldn't be so bad if Blair was just an air-headed house pet and/or succubus with no respect for his privacy. Oh no. The cat is a meddler. She _knows_ things. Blair pulls puppet strings from behind a curtain of huge tits and purple-lacquered claws. Everyone's sex life (or lack of) is her business.

Naturally, Nakatsukasa Tsubaki's business (or lack of) had been the reason behind the Meddlesome Ovarian Gathering of Saturday Morning.

Soul will admit Tsubaki has been fighting a losing battle for the better part of four or five or way too many years. He's sort of embarrassed on Black Star's behalf, because that idiot is his best friend but Soul has no means or desire to defend the meister's severe case of clueless. Tsubaki can probably use all the help she can get.

Help, granted, that resides within _normal_ boundaries of social protocol. Hell, even _**abnormal**_ boundaries were preferred over... over this! Shoving the two into a dark closet for a few hours would have been fine. Shoving Black Star's face into Tsubaki's chest for a few hours would also have been fine.

A girly pow-wow assembling in his apartment led by a certain promiscuous feline to plot the demise of his best friend's severe case of clueless via concocting a deviously delicious-looking chocolate _poison_ **will never be fine. **

There isn't any fairness at all. The tray had been sitting on the kitchen counter by the stove, in that sacred area where Maka usually puts rejected baking projects and leftover brownies for him to guiltlessly devour without threat of concussion. He'd just snuck out of his room, because it sounded like The Girls were about to go to lunch, and he hoped to find something to snack on because he'd slept through breakfast.

It hadn't helped they were his secret favorite. Chocolate truffles!

Even as he'd picked one up between thumb and forefinger, he wondered what the occasion was, never once thinking it had anything to do with the Magic Menace that lived under his roof. It wasn't Christmas. It wasn't his birthday. Dim bells had rung in regards to Valentine's Day; namely the ones marked 'Yes, You're a Glutton', 'Maka Would Never Give You Valentine's Chocolate', and 'Are You Eating These So She Doesn't Give Them to a Secret Crush? You Have No Shame'.

But they had been in the Free-For-All spot! Like the bonus square in bingo. Like ten bucks abandoned in the middle of the street. Like..._whatever, _he wanted it, it had called to him, and maybe Soul 'Eater' Evans has no sense of self-control when it comes to food, ever.

The chocolate coating had still been wet, so he licked the edge along with his sugary-stained finger so it wouldn't drip on the counter. And then the world **tingled.**

It tilted down, very down, and then suddenly very _**up**_, making his pants uncomfortably tight. He'd looked down at himself, confused as to why standing barefoot in a seemingly ho-hum kitchen should arouse him whatsoever. Then, as Blair's voice meandered its way to him from the living room, he had abruptly known she had something to do with the ache in his pants.

"Donchu worry, Tsu-ba-ki! One bite of these and your ninja midget will be alllll over you."

So yes, he should have seen this coming. He probably deserves it, somewhat. Presently, Soul stands while glaring at the tray of chocolate. His blood hums in anger and arousal as he thinks of ways to kill a magical cat. Most of them involve scythes and flea-baths.

To make matters worse, he hears his meister's voice, and it sounds just around the corner. "I'll be down in a minute, I'mma ask if he wants me to bring back anything," she calls. Oh, how nice of her. Unfortunately, unless wherever they're going for lunch has a super sized order of Limitless Women Dying to Get in His Pants with a side order of Excruciatingly Horny on the menu, he doubts Maka will be able to deliver anything that can satisfy him.

This is what he tells himself, anyway.

"Okay, we'll wait downstairs!" The front door slams, probably due to Patti's enthusiasm. His meister's winter boots clank down the hallway, but stop short when Maka spies him in the kitchen on the way to his room. Soul looks over his shoulder slowly, cautiously keeping his straining front to the cabinets and away from very green, very attractive, and notoriously observant eyes.

"Heeeyy," she smiles, jokingly chiding, and comes up behind him. He stifles a shiver as she plucks the truffle he'd licked a moment ago out of his hand. "No dessert before dinner~" she sing-songs.

And just to be a little **twerp**, she pops the whole thing into _her_ mouth instead, before he even has a chance to say anything, much less point out the fact that it's lunch, not dinner time. It's still messy and wet, and there's a hint of glistening chocolate at the corner of her mouth. He's disturbed with how much he wants to lick it off her.

Soul completely turns around to face her in a daze, watching Maka's eyes widen slightly as she chews. A curious look crosses her features as she swallows. Then, Soul watches her world tingle and tilt; mostly down, in her case. She alluringly crumples to the floor, hunching over and shuddering.

"Wh..? Oh **no,"** she moans into her hands.

Soul tries to ignore the twitch in his pants. Fails. Contemplates the benefits of his meister and a side order of Excruciatingly Horny. He calculates the chances of getting out of this mess without taking off his pants, and fails to find the statistics comforting.


	2. In Which Chaos Begins

**Part 2**  
><strong>In Which Chaos Begins (and Everyone Wishes They Were Maka)<strong>

* * *

><p>"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice coming out several steps rougher than intended. His head angles to the side when she abnormally quivers to the sound.<p>

"Oh God, they must've been mixed up!"

Soul tries to wrap his head around this statement. If there had been things to mix up, then there was a different intent for the Horny Chocolate. This means several things:

One: Maka **had **made him Valentine's chocolate, which is... well he won't think about this right now.

Two: Maka had believed the aforementioned chocolates meant for him to be without magical side-effects. He doesn't know whether to be relieved or depressed.

Three: Blair probably swapped the chocolates, either out of clumsiness or mischief. Regardless, she's going to die a painful death.

"You mean this _wasn't_ on purpose?"

"Of course not! They were supposed to be for Black St-..." With horror, his absurdly aroused meister realizes the full situation. She shakily looks up from the floor to see his face- or what she can see of it from behind the very conspicuous bulge in his pants.

"Granted," he answers her silent, terrified question, "I only licked it."

Maka clamps her hands over her mouth more tightly, her face igniting. A muffled, "Second-hand k-k-kiiaaaaagh," slides out between her fingers.

"But, you actually _ate_ the thing, so I can only imagine..." Soul doesn't finish his sentence, finding the way she claws at her scarf like it's suffocating her to be fascinating. Yeah. He can imagine very well.

_He_ can still stand. Maka doesn't have this luxury. His meister looks about ready to strip in front of him in the middle of the kitchen. Soul clears his throat. "This is the part where you tell me the cure," before something very stupid, but probably very amazing, but no, extremely, alarmingly stupid happens.

Maka flings her hands to her knees, in what appears to be an attempt to not touch other places. He defends himself from an onslaught of dashed hopes. Her nails dig into the tight, tight, tight denim gripping her thighs.

"It's an aphrodisiac, Soul. Whaddya **think** the cure is?"

He doesn't have time to retort (or demand to know why any sane person on the planet would plan to give Black Star, of all uncontrollable forces of nature, a fuckin' aphrodisiac), because her cell phone goes off, which happens to be in the front pocket of her jeans, and on vibrate. Maka nearly collapses- an effort when one is already puddled on the floor- convulsing with a surprised mewl before trying to scrabble at the mobile phone pressing into her thigh.

He can't look away. Watching her half-heartedly try to keep from being pleasured is like watching an insanely erotic car collision.

Maka's heaving chest has always been a secretive flavor of eye-candy for him, even more so when he's under the influence of Devil Chocolate and the owner of the chest in question is writhing pathetically at his feet. Soul swallows thickly and crouches to shove his hand in her pocket in a chivalrous effort against all hormone-driven logic to keep his meister from involuntarily reaching an orgasm on the kitchen floor. However, the moment his hand escapes her pants with the cell in his grasp, Maka springs into action faster than he can comprehend.

Her legs tangle with his just as he flips her phone open. His back hits the linoleum as he very elegantly says "Uhhh" to Tsubaki's worried voice. He manages a distracted and probably unconvincing "Maka's busy" before his meister violently slaps the phone out of his hand and proceeds to take his fingers _into her mouth._

It's like having the marrow sucked out of his bones. It feels curiously _good_, and so does the grinding of her hips in his lap. Except the warmth of her crotch is the **wrong** thing to be focusing on.

"M-Maka. Stop. You.. we really shouldn't- NNGK." Had she just tweaked his nipple? _She tweaked his nipple!_ Alright, okay, this is enough. He may have bucked into the apex of her thighs a few times, but he's still in control, maybe. Soul scrambles around, wrestling with her until he can escape and stand on his own feet again, accidentally (except not) rubbing and fondling his way to freedom.

Once separated, Maka simply jumps him. Long legs wrap around his waist. Her mouth is attached to his neck while he stumbles and, in an effort to keep balance, he grabs her firm thighs and ooh, ass, wow, that's really...

A few more involuntary thrusts and Soul decides that further evasive action must be taken. With a wriggling mass of meister glued to him, he staggers to his room while Maka nips and suckles, all but ripping the collar of his tee in the process of moving it aside for her mouth. He deposits her on his bed, very _not_ in control of the urge to undo the frustrating buttons of her winter coat and groping her through her clothes while she pants and hums with impatience.

Soul performs the dumbest thing to date and kisses her. The act itself isn't inherently stupid for him- in fact, it's actually one of the better moments in his life- but he'd forgotten about the small hint of chocolate left on the corner of her lips, which is licked away in the process of tasting her eager little mouth.

The world does that tingly jig again, and his sight threatens to tunnel-vision if he doesn't keep a tighter grip on his morality.

In a desperate cloud of expletives, he shoves one of his pillows over her face and, after taking only a millisecond's pause to stare at her sweater riding up her stomach, **runs the fuck away**, swinging the bedroom door shut behind him. He figures he has about two seconds before Maka can recover (maybe less because she's an athletic meister), so he makes a dash for the one room in the apartment that locks.

Soul hears his bedroom door explode, but he is too hell-bent on escaping to look back to see if anything remains. He hurriedly slams the bathroom door closed, forcefully flicks the tiny lock that is the embodiment of what's left of his sanity, and backs away to the furthest available wall, stumbling over a fluffy floor rug in the process. The door heaves and shudders for a moment or a year while Soul holds his breath, clinging to a vinyl shower curtain for moral support. When Maka gives up trying to force the barrier open, sliding down the wood with a discouraged groan, his breath slides out with a shaky hiss.

Uncool. He's just locked himself away from the one person he'd absolutely love to be seduced by, and is grinding the heel of his palm to his crotch instead of letting her molest him within an inch of his life.

Hell, she's already managed to steal his belt and undo the button of his pants, he belatedly notices while catching his breath.


	3. Let's Become Masturbation Buddies

**Part 3  
><strong>**In Which Soul and Maka Become Masturbation Buddies**

* * *

><p>"Souuul," Maka whines pitifully, which makes his eyes come a lot closer to bugging out than he wants to admit, and his dick a shade harder and more uncomfortable. Her thick panting muffled through the bathroom door tortures him.<p>

Please don't beg him. _Please please please,_ "C'mon, Maka. Try to clear your head a little," he tries to reason, pissed that his voice is completely unconvincing. "It was an accident. You don't really want to, uh, do anything like that. Just- just wait it out."

He feels like a jackass, saying such 'reasonable' bullshit while he stares at the large, economy-sized dispenser of his meister's moisturizing lotion. He scrunches his eyes shut. Maka moans with the frustration of a penned, ferocious, and very heated wildcat, which echoes his sentiments. She's singing him a siren song that goes straight to his legs.

This is awful! He only had a taste of the curse (okay, two tastes), and his cock is _throbbing_. Maka had eaten a truffle in its entirety and nearly came with a cell phone in her pocket. They need help. Badly. And what if any of those truffles made it out with the girls? If Black Star eats one, poor Tsubaki won't stand a chance. She'd be molested to death.

He knows this is a potential disaster in the making. He knows this as he undoes the rest of his fly. He formulates a plan on trying to get a word of warning to his friend and a plea for a cure, even as he shimmies his pants down a few inches. "Maka," he croaks out, trying not to hiss when the waistband of his boxers slides both wonderfully and uncomfortably across his erection. "Are you good? I need you to-" _help me take care of the biggest problem I've ever had in my life, _"...do me a favor. Up for it?"

A shaky, quaking "Maybe. In a... in a minute," is her reply. And Soul hears the sound of a zipper. He can't stop his eyes from worriedly checking his own fly, even though he knows it's already undone and the only logical conclusion is that his meister is about to masturbate less than ten feet from him, but he looks anyway, praying to God that the past five minutes have been pure delusion and that his thing isn't pointed straight to heaven. But, alas, his dick is weeping, and every slide of Maka's back against the other side of the door makes it weep just a little harder.

This isn't happening. This isn't happening. Holy shit, why is he scooting _closer_ to the door? It's dangerous over there! But yes, grabbing the lotion on the way over is a fantastic idea- good thinking.

"Fucking hell," he states to no one in particular as he sits in front of the door, his back to the shuddering wood. Soul finds that he can hear her better through the gap at the base, which is terribly convenient for him. Though, apart from distracted pants and tiny squeaks from the back of Maka's throat, he mostly hears the sound of fabric rustling. After a few short moments, however, and with intense horror and fascination, he hears it: something _wet. _The smallest squelch of moist skin on skin.

"_Mmng..."_

**Okay. **Lotion time it is. Soul doesn't even bother trying to warm the product in his hand, going straight for the aching goal. Isn't this the predicament? Meister and weapon, separated by flimsy wood, masturbating together. It's almost endearing, if only he can stifle the mortification. How pathetically low can he get? He's only got a boner! Albeit, it's one that seems slightly out of his control, but he can exercise restraint. He should not be jerking off to the sound of his partner who seems turned on by anything and everything around her.

God, but does the friction feel good. He tries to breathe quietly and steadily through his nose, but he's not sure if it's to keep his wanking a secret or so he can hear every little noise Maka makes en route to orgasm.

"Soul..."

"Yeah?" He breathily replies, praying to every god he can imagine that he doesn't sound like he's jerking off. Maka only calls his name again, and he suddenly understands she's not trying to initiate any kind of coherent conversation. She's getting off by being near him.

He's going to die.

The shower curtain on the other side of the bathroom is unhelpful as he stares at it and tries to swallow the idea of his meister gasping out his name while touching herself. He's imagined a lot of things, but _this particular scenario_ has never been one of them. Maka's breaths become more labored, her voice tight and raising in pitch. Soul can only grit his teeth and pump his hand faster. Another call of his name, this time more pleading, and he hears the sound of her sliding away, presumably to squirm on the hallway floor.

He jumps out of his skin when he feels something brush the hand he as clenched at his side. Maka's fingers! They're thinner than his and so very feminine, connected to a narrow palm and skinny wrist small enough to shove partway underneath the door. Her fingers shake, straining for some part of him to hang on to. The logical conclusion is to dumbly watch himself wrap his hand around hers. Good job, this is the most ridiculous thing he's ever-

She moans, or maybe howls, squeezing his fingertips painfully as if every insignificant part of her body has become an over-sensitized erogenous zone attuned to his skin. The following "Soouull~" is the last one he can confidently admit to hearing, faintly registering the surprised, chaotic cry that bounces off the tiled walls for only a moment before his ears and eyes and heart all stop as he guilty comes with a stifled groan.

Harmonic heavy breathing assaults him as he realizes a horrible truth: He isn't remotely satisifed. Maka's tired, whining sob from behind assures him that the roller coaster is far from over. "The phone," he rasps between heaving pants. His _masturbating buddy_ breathes for a few seconds, and Soul begins to wonder if her orgasm has bought them any time at all, but he hears her stuttering, shuffled movements as she slides her sweating fingers out of his and moves away.

Picturing his partner crawling to the kitchen in undone jeans to retrieve her cellphone is _not_ something he should be thinking about. His hand is a mess, and so is the floor, so Soul busies himself with cleaning up instead of worrying if Maka will make it back with the phone without _making it with the phone on the way back._


	4. In Which Soul Almost Loses His Cool

**Part 4**  
><strong>In Which Soul Almost Loses His Cool<strong>

* * *

><p>She's taking too long. No, maybe he's impatient and wired. Soul attempts to count to one-hundred slowly, but only makes it to about thirty-five before his hand is cautiously unlocking the bathroom door. What if the phone rang again? She'd be a puddle of defenseless bliss until the call switched to voicemail. What if she didn't even make it to the kitchen? <em>What if it's a trap?<em>

His meister could just be chilling outside the door, waiting to pounce. That would be very, very detrimental to his cause. Would he be able to resist her again?

...He doesn't stand a fucking chance. But he still needs to call outside for help, and warn Black Star or Tsubaki or _anyone_ that those chocolate truffles are edible tickets to hell.

The door makes a conspicuous squeak as he opens it. Soul cautiously pokes his head out of the bathroom door, his blood feeling flooded with something much more potent and nerve-wracking than adrenaline. The hallway is empty.

Forcing his breath the be calm and even, or even just functional, he walks to the kitchen. Peers around the corner. No sign of his meister. He does, however, spy Maka's cell, which is still abandoned in the far corner of the kitchen, next to the dishwasher. He glances around nervously before inching closer. Finds shards of plastic and remnants of a dial pad.

The phone had broken when she smacked it out of his hand earlier.

Well, he still has a phone, but where in Death's name is _she?_ He creeps back to the hallway, straining his ears for any sound. A strangled moan reaches him, shooting lightning to his toes. "Soul!" Maka cries in desperation, but his cell is in his bedroom, in the opposite direction.

He performs and awkward shifting dance from one foot to the other. He needs to call for backup. He needs that **cat** here, to fix this. He needs to not be anywhere near Maka, for the sake of her virtue, their friendship, their partnership, and _his lifespan._

...His meister can handle herself while he calls for help. She's strong. She can manage without him for a minute.

Even as he decides this, Soul finds himself abruptly bee-lining for her after another cry of defeated anguish. He can't decide if his lack of control stems from weapon instincts or primal instincts, but he absolutely can _not_ walk in the opposite direction of Maka. That's just not how things work for them.

The fact that he makes his way to her while holding up his unzipped pants and with a boner only partially covered by his shirt is more than a little weird, but he doesn't have time to really mull over it.

"Holy _Jesus_."

The living room is a small step away from a national disaster. In whatever amount of time he'd spent locked up in the bathroom freaking out, Maka had ransacked the apartment. Pillows are strewn on opposite ends of the room. The love seat is stripped bare of cushions and shoved out of its usual alignment. Books are scattered and awkwardly bent wherever they have landed, pages like wings of dead birds splayed into the air.

Maka kneels on the floor, halfway slumped into an over-sized beanbag chair as if her legs have simply given out. Her face is pressed into the imitation leather, which muffles her persistent moaning.

With her knees spread, jeans halfway peeled down pale thighs with an underwear accompaniment, the tips of his meister's fingers work a furious, frustrated bullseye on the one part of her he's never actually seen before. Maka's boots scuff up the floor as she twitches and flexes. "I c-couldn't, haah-"

Soul prays for his vision to remain clear and not become overly focused on the line of her spine bending and beckoning him. He thought his heart had been pounding before, locked up in the bathroom in terror, but now he understands that had been a pathetic example of just how hard his entire body can throb.

"Couldn't find your, phhmm," she hums, twisting to one side to look at him while touching herself, which seems to make her effort at speaking even more of a struggle. Glassy green eyes are hooded to mere slits, framed by flushing cheekbones and firmly pressed lips. Her scarf is still on, tangled with her hair and messily sliding off her shoulder. "Your phone. I don't... Soul," she pleads with a hoarse mewl, face pained and urgent, "I can't! I can't come!"

Well, that's just not good for **anybody.** He hadn't felt his legs moving, but his knees are sliding on the floor in his rush to get to her side. He's just being a good Samaritan. That's all this is. One of his hands slithers under her sweater to cup a burning, lace-covered breast while the other greedily moves her fingers out of the way to firmly press against the outside of her soaking problem.

It occurs to him, the moment his fingers come into contact with her slick wetness, that if they make it out of this alive, he has no hopes of living beyond the the point where Maka regains her self-control. Maybe he could have gotten away with a severe beating with the whole jerking-off thing, but now, with this glimmering, sticky-but-not dampness on his hand, there's no way. He's going to die. Not right this second, granted, but a line has been crossed and there's nothing he can do to ensure his future safety.

This does not stop him from running his middle finger down the center of her slit whatsoever. In fact, it may even prompt him.

Her hand he'd swatted away now grips the beanbag chair so fiercely that the material creaks in her fingers. The other grasps the tit he's holding and squeezes, forcing his hand to clutch her breast with more force than he figured something so soft would allow. The whole package is news to him, from what an aroused clit feels like to the fact that his meister is sexual at all.

She's so smooth and warm! Each pass of his finger makes her spine bend a little further, tilting her hips higher for him. Maka croons, any grasp she had on language earlier dissolving in the fever her flushing body generates. She nudges and presses her rounded ass into his hand, and he decides such a perfectly shaped rear end should be illegal.

With an annoyed sort of whine, Maka gives up on trying to force him to grope her harder- he's kind of distracted by the other end of her body that she keeps swaying at him like a smooth, porcelain _taunt_- and reaches to the side, sliding her palm on the underside of his very available erection.

About seven things happen to him at once, six of them being various forms of shock, shudder, and moan, and the seventh being the world-altering moment the tip of his finger accidentally eases into her entrance. When this happens, all of his body but the finger in question falls off his radar. His index finger demands all of his attention, and he dares not move or he might miss something vital, like Maka's subsequent quivering of thighs and very interested, very eager hum of pleasure.

He's probably slack-jawed. He doesn't know. He watches her move, and it's like that car crash again, except more like a collision of _galaxies. _She makes the simplest of movements, leaning into him. Soul's finger disappears. It's gone. In her. _His finger is gone._

Maka's hungry sob abruptly brings his senses back to life with an urgent slap. Well, that, and the way she wraps her fingers around his cock, dark eyes almost wistfully staring into his face as she frees a small portion of his finger and takes it away again, into her moist heat. And then again. And then again. She doesn't need words, he knows exactly what she wants.

Her face is a lot closer than it was a moment ago- he can feel her searing breath on his lips- and perhaps this is his fault, because he's been gravitating towards her with every passing second she rocks into him and back into the chair. Maka's skin is so flushed and he just wants to _eat it. _Soul pulls his hand out of her shirt and fumbles with her hair and scarf, brushing it out of the way so he can have full access to her jaw.

He wants to taste her but she won't hold still! Oh. Soul remembers he's in charge of the finger sinking into her, and pushes this in more deeply. In reply, Maka's halts, her mouth opening wide and loud voice washing directly over his ears. That's fine with him, because the muscles working in her neck is exactly what he's always wanted under his tongue.

It's a game of Pass The Distraction- a few moments spent getting stroked by her until he remembers to tease her neck, sucking her skin until she forgets about her hand on his cock, and stroking her dripping flesh until she returns the favor. He feels like a god damn genius when he deciphers her hoarse moans into "More, I need-" and feels his middle finger do that melting, disappearing act along with the first.

Soul has her full attention now. Maka's eyes slide shut, chest heaving as his fingers curl and press inside. She's done with staying still. He has a close-call with her shoulder, feeling air whoosh past his face as she jerks and thrusts back to frantically meet his hand. It doesn't take long- a few moments of rubbing her drenched inner walls and he's suddenly witness to his meister having an orgasm.

It's not like when he has one, but it kind of is. He doesn't think his hips go _quite_ so much out of control (he has to pull his fingers out, she's so all over the place), but the shaking legs and gasping he's more familiar with, and he can kind of dimly associate his sticky, glistening hand with what happens when _he_ comes. Her recovery rate, however, is completely alien and unnatural.

Maka squirms, turning her face and chest away from him, which only brings her wobbling, jean-bound legs closer. He can't get enough air in his lungs as she slowly slides backwards to him, remembering what exactly is going on, here. His bullshit-Samaritan, 'good deed' of the fucking day does not magically mark the end of this fiasco.

His eyes widen when he sees her hand snake over her back and reaches behind to _grab him by the dick. _Maka slides herself closer, and he feels the heat radiating from her tempting body flooding over his swollen head. He finds his hands resting so comfortably on the edges of her hips. He breathes so loudly it's the only thing he can hear. Just his straining breath trying to feed his brain enough oxygen to _think straight_, for the love of God, why can't he remember how to think-

She positions him and scoots back just enough, letting go when his cock kisses her slick flesh. He stops breathing. Everything stops breathing. Nothing in the entire world is breathing in the half-second he contemplates pulling Maka back by the hips and melting into her. He wants. _He wants. _His meister leans back (or maybe he inches forward), her entrance slowly giving, gradually yeilding.

And then, the very tip of him melts.

"Aah-"

"**Shit."**

Soul violently shoves himself away, scrambling in any direction but forward. He ignores Maka's frustrated cries as he gasps for air. A coffee table digs into his shoulder and a book stabs his shin as he hunches over on hands and knees. What the _fuck._ He'd almost- well technically he _had_- and she can't control herself and he just-

Maka's burning body wraps around his back and her hands clutch his chest in desperation. "Soul~"

He violently shakes his head, not trusting his voice. He can only see how wet the head of his dick is, and how much of it belongs to his partner.

"Soul, _hurry!"_

_No no no no no __**no. **_He stands, struggling under her weight for a moment until he can balance. Her lips assault him as he carries her into his bedroom once again.

* * *

><p>Marsh: More on Monday or Tuesday~<p> 


	5. Bondage is the Only Option

**Part Five**  
><strong>The Part Where Bondage is the Only Option<strong>

* * *

><p>He must pay attention. He can't get carried away. He should have zipped up his pants.<p>

His meister only has one thing on her mind, and stumbling to his bed while having her squirming on his back is made extra difficult with his jeans threatening to fall past his ass. Dumping her on his mussed covers and her previously discarded coat is more an accident from tripping than actual purpose.

Soul's entire body tangles with Maka's as they roll around on his bed. She's so damn quick and takes advantage of any weak moment he has to flip them and try to strip him, and he has more than half a mind to let her, seeing as he's already lost his shirt. To make matters worse, every time he does manage to get in the lead, he gets so easily distracted... The last roll-over he found out her bra unlatches _from the front_. What a genius invention!

It's probably uncomfortable for her to have her sweater and ends of her bra shoved up to her armpits, but she doesn't complain if there's a nipple in his mouth. Thus is the foundation of his game plan: suck Maka's tit until he thinks of a way out of this mess.

The process is slow-going.

She's found new buttons on him he hadn't known he had- like running her fingers down his spine, or tightly gripping his hair at the roots- and mashes these frequently while awkwardly squirming for a way to meld their hips together with her jeans halfway to her knees. It makes him grind into the smoothness of her thighs, discard her nipple and find her mouth instead, and quickly forget what the hell he's supposed to be doing.

Okay, so he may be copping more feels than he had originally allotted himself, and maybe he likes kissing her a lot more than he should. But if he hadn't been running his hand through her tangled hair while she suckled his bottom lip, he wouldn't have touched her scarf and had a light bulb dimly flicker on in his hazy brain.

He unwraps her scarf. Phase One: complete! Except now her neck is exposed and looks delicious. Maybe just one more taste... Her groan tickles his mouth, and for half a second, he gets a mouthful of wool as she hauls her sweater over her head. Collarbones sloppily hidden by loose bra straps call to him like sirens, and while he samples these, his meister's hands slide down his back and underneath the waist of his jeans. With a firm squeeze, Maka finds another new thing to distract him with.

"**WOAH. **Okay, _hah,_ wait-" he rears back, heart thundering. Soul takes her wrists and pulls them away from his ass so she can't grope it again, because that's just dangerous. Then he realizes he has her hands in his grasp. Phase Two: accidentally complete.

He scoots up the bed on his knees, crawling above her body with her wrists in tow. This may have been poor planning, because her torso and breasts are exposed, and his package is very sociable. Soul is not prepared whatsoever for Maka to arch up and rub her bare, satiny skin against him. He shivers, looking down curiously to see if maybe she'll do it again, but she's staring right at him between her captive arms. Her gaze never leaves his, and he realizes his mistake as she sticks out her tongue. The same tongue that had been sliding in his mouth not even two minutes ago.

"Ma-..!_"_ He can't finish, because he's positive he's made a vacuum in his room from inhaling the entire atmosphere.

Unreal. Maka's tongue folds out and cradles his cock while her cloudy eyes beg for attention. Her lips seductively plant an open-mouthed kiss on the side of his shaft, and his spine threatens to go on strike. _Don't look, don't look, _he's on a high-priority mission! Shit, where's the scarf-

"Uuhgod..." Soul's forehead dully smacks into the headboard of his bed. It doesn't matter if he's not looking. Only one muscle can do _that_. His imagination fills in the blanks easily, goosebumps invading every inch of his skin. He refuses to thrust into his meister's mouth. He refuses, damn it! One tiny nudge forward later- despite all his good intentions- and she's humming with appreciation, like it's pleasurable for _her._ **That doesn't even make sense. **Enough, this is getting beyond ridiculous, and her voice is sending curious sensations through his dick that toy with his entire nervous system. Soul lets go of one of her hands to reach for the thin scarf he's finally spotted in the moments his eyes aren't rolling into his skull.

This is another mistake. Maka cups his balls with her freedom, and elicits very uncool noises from him with every caress. He finds himself running out of curses to blurt.

Baby steps. He can do this. Grab the scarf. Drag it to the headboard even though it feels like it weighs eight thousand pounds. Spend a few moments catching his breath while his partner plays with ridges and veins with her lips. Struggle with the simple act of carefully wrapping Maka's delicate wrist. Reluctantly pry her other hand away from his body. Shakily tie it up with the twin. Secure to headboard.

Soul groans, drowning in a sea of warmth. He's so close! The tension is burning him, raging and shrieking between his hips. But if he even _thinks_ about coming anywhere near her face, he knows his eventual assassination will not be merciful. He slides away, back down the bed with a groan, her mouth popping loudly at the loss of suction. A tongue traces up his stomach as he retreats, her dangerous mouth trapped against his chest.

Maka pulls at her restraints and very nearly growls in the back of her throat. Soul has an internal battle for a good while, because she's right here, half naked and tied to his bed (why was this a good idea again?), trying to reach his nipple but finding part of his long scar with her mouth instead, and her saliva is cooling on the hypersensitive skin of his cock and everything in his body is screaming 'fuck, fuck, _fuck'._

Her skin is like salve to the incessant burning in his blood. He's aching and she's doing the sexiest little wriggling scarf and jean-bound dance underneath him. Every part of her feels good, and Soul has to initiate Departure Sequence at least three times before he can convince his yearning body to tilt to one side and away. Soul flops to his back and slowly oozes his way off the bed and on to the floor just as Maka begins to thrash and howl at his absence. The headboard smacks into the wall repeatedly from her efforts at freedom or at least the ability to touch herself, which is all he's doing- greedily and miserably all at once. He can't ignore the pulsing, itching, demanding urgency his erection requires, and he's still a little slick from her mouth he wants to taste again- so he jerks himself, leaning against the bed.

She starts to beg.

"No... I can't! Soul? Soul! Where are you? _Please!_ Come back come back comebackcomebaaack~"

He's losing his damn mind. His room smells like sex and there's a beast tied up behind him. The bed frame rattles, springs creaking as Maka pleads for him. He's stroking himself with a vengeance, but it's not enough! He can't come. It's not.. it's not building at all! He may as well be jerking a _plastic dong_ and get the same result.

Oh, maybe that's what she'd been talking about.

"_Soul!"_

This just won't do. He reaches up, slapping his hand on the bedside table to his right, finding nothing but an alarm clock and some loose change that clatters to the floor. _Shit._ Where's his phone? He has to find it! He can't think with Maka sobbing for him to touch her, please, it's not fair, but then he spies his pile of dirty clothes. His uniform is huddled messily in the corner of his room, and he does a stupid baggy-pantsed shuffle on his knees to shove his hand into yesterday's slacks. His fingers find the solid, comforting weight of cool plastic and heavy battery, and he yanks it out fervently, flipping it open.

"Aahg!" he exclaims.

It's dead.

An internal voice in the back of his mind (which sounds annoyingly like Maka in full-blown lecture mode) tells him he should know better than to not keep his phone charged, because with their profession, they never know when an emergency might happen. He mentally argues back to shut the hell up, because no one expects a _sex_ emergency, give him a fucking break! But yes, he should have charged it. He should have done a lot of things this morning.

Soul grips his useless phone in one hand and clutches his persistent problem in the other. He looks hesitantly behind him to see Maka desperately attempting to rub her inner thighs together while making lust-driven pleas for service. He stands, shuffling to his desk and messily searching for his charging cable. His hands shake as he plugs it in, and the act of sliding the adapter into the phone's port spawns ridiculous and nerve-grating similes in his head that make him alternate between jealousy and wanting to stab a feline to death.

"Seriously? Turn _on,"_ he urges, pressing the power button on his cellphone with increasing panic. The screen remains an unhelpful black for several seconds until a dim picture of a very empty battery fades into view. It's pulsing red lines inform him that he's neglectful and not the only thing in the room that is starving.

A boot flies past his head. She'd managed to toe one loose and kick it off to get his attention. There are strangled words entwined with her frantic lamenting, and they're mostly about how she needs him to help her, to make her come, and how she'll do anything. His phone won't turn on no matter how hard he smashes the power button, and Maka calls his name like she's on the verge of _dying_.

Well, damn. Soul lets his phone slide out of his hand and to his desk with a clatter. He has to distract Maka until it's charged, else the other people in the apartment complex might think she's being murdered. He prays he can do something that doesn't involve _doing her_ while she's bound and willing.

He'd worked so hard to get away from her, but here he is again. Her socked foot strains for him as he hesitantly moves to stand at the end of his bed. She's quite a sight, with her crazy hair and blush-mottled chest and lean stomach twisting from side to side. Tiny hints of her snatch peek between her grinding thighs and the folds of her jeans. With a tentative hand on her foot, his fingers map out the curves and hollows of her ankle, and she sighs with relief filled with further expectations.

But no, the sock. Concentrate on her very non-sexual, thick, woolen sock, and not how eerily quiet his meister has become, or how her body shivers under his hand. He just needs to distract her. This is what he tells himself is the new game plan as he slides off her other boot. And pulls off her socks. And peels her jeans and panties down her shins until they're inside out, throwing the jumble of fabric into his pile of yesterday's clothes.

Soul runs his hands up her endless legs, leaning forward to palm lean shins and soft calves and quivering knees and shit, he forgot to breathe again-

"...Your mouth."

_What._ His hands freeze at her supple thighs, his widened eyes shooting to _her_ mouth to see if his ears are playing tricks on him, but it's just wishful thinking. Maka's fingers tangle with each other at his headboard as she repeats herself, one of her legs moving from his hand to partially reveal the subject of her request.

"Y-your mouth?" she asks hopefully, hooded eyes watching him over the soft curves of her breasts and torso. "I want... please?"

He swallows the entire Nevada desert. Finds his eyes glued to her glistening center. "...Yeah, alright." Just until his phone turns on. Just to keep her occupied and definitely not because the thought of the never-ending display of _readiness_ now smearing her inner thighs makes him want to drool.

There's nothing to debate. She spreads her legs for him eagerly as he climbs on the bed. Her knees bend out to the side, and he supports her, holding her ass up in his hands as one holds a perfectly-sized melon, unabashedly shoving his mouth into her flesh.


	6. In Which Blair Saves the Awkward Day

**Part Six  
><strong>**In which Blair Saves the Awkward Day**

* * *

><p>Soul has many talents. He plays multiple instruments. He shoots a decent game of basketball. He can kick someone in the head with his hands still in his pockets. But first and foremost, he consumes kishin eggs for a living. He is a soul eater. Eating is what he does best.<p>

By the way Maka sings his name to his ceiling, he is damn good at it.

She tastes somewhat sweet and somewhat salty and maybe there's a hint of soap, but what matters is her keening and throaty praise. Everything is a lickable surface, from Maka's outer folds to the charming light pink flesh in between, and her fun little nub that makes her jerk uncontrollably in his hands when he runs the length of his tongue across it.

He'd like to experiment with teeth, but she twitches and writhes too much for him to do it safely, especially with how pointed his are. Maybe another time, then.

...Except there won't _be _another time, the back of his mind says in that practical Maka voice. So he ought to make the most of this before he dies. Soul pulls his wet, grinning mouth away, catching his breath while he lowers his meister's body back to the bed. With a hand on the underside of each thigh, he pushes her legs toward her heaving chest. Her heated pussy is on open display, and he's able to keep her still this way- though she looks kind of like a pretzel held prisoner with her arms tied above her head.

Oh well.

Soul lightly pinches her sensitive inner thighs with his teeth, thoroughly enjoying Maka's ensuing whimper. He nips and sucks all the taut, burning skin he can reach, mindlessly echoing back her moans with his nose buried in her crotch. Gently worrying her hood around her clit rewards him with the second-best gasp he's ever heard in his life, which is only topped by the one he receives when he gives up the nibbling and prods his tongue inside her.

It does not appear she wants him to stop for anything, and he finds that when he moves a hand away from her thigh to spread her pussy wider for his mouth, Maka's leg holds the position without him. Lifting the other hand, he finds the same result, and wow, that's... perfect. With his hands free, he can just enjoy her like a three course meal.

He's practically giddy to push his fingers in her again, this time feeling all her reflexive and erotic clenching as he sucks on her excited skin. Her heels smack into his shoulder blades, pressing deep for the leverage to bring herself closer to his mouth. Soul might suffocate to death, but feels it'd be a decent way to go.

His meister makes chaotic cries for release, so he sinks his fingers more deeply, playing a heady rhythm. He strokes upward with curled fingers, fingertips sliding and pressing on her sopping walls. His dick begs to switch places, but even if he wanted to (which, technically, he _does_), he wouldn't be able with Maka's powerful legs constricting around his head.

"_Ah! Soul, I'm..!"_

She **is. **Forcefully. Around his fingers and in his mouth, she's coming, and he will only stop pleasuring her when he can no longer breathe, her thighs like a vice and shoving his hair uncomfortably in his ears. Maka finally comes off her high, melting off his shoulders and entire body sagging with temporary relief.

Soul makes a small effort at cleaning his face- mostly with his tongue and a corner of his tangled bedsheets- before getting hypnotized by her sweaty body. Maka opens tired green eyes, and he faintly notes how alert they become after just a few breaths. A couple of blinks and she watches him carefully, and it's as close to normal he's seen her since the moment she'd put that chocolate truffle in her mouth.

...Her sexy, vulnerable, open mouth that seems to beckon him on a molecular level with her heavy breath loudly puffing between her lips. He's done it again- hovering over her face, nose brushing hers without his consent. When had he crawled up to her? Ahh, his aching cock feels so good pressed against her swollen sex. He wants inside! He wants to take her as his, wants her body to fit him like a tailored glove, wants her hips to go crazy as he brings her to another orgasm, and never, for any reason, _stop._

She looks so lucid, and if he ignores her bound wrists it's almost like...

"_Maka," _he murmurs against her mouth, and he feels her lips form his name silently in reply. She cranes her neck up to meet him, her warm tongue tiredly mingling with his for a moment before plopping her head back down on the mattress. His hips press into hers, his neglected arousal blindly rubbing against her slick folds.

"Soul," she says hoarsely in his mouth between nuzzling kisses, "your phone is, _mmm_, …noisy."

He hears the chiming, start-up sequence like faintly hearing his name being called from the other side of the expansive, very uninteresting wasteland that is the space between his bed and desk. He hears it, and doesn't care. Soul encompasses her body with his, caught up in the feeling of her perky breasts rubbing against his racing chest. Maka mewls into his mouth when his dick brushes against her still-sensitive clit.

"This is probably, _haah,_ your only break... _mm!"_

She's right. This is the last time. The only time, really. So he kisses her again, trying to savor every last second.

His phone twitters with notifications- missed calls and text messages- interrupting him repeatedly. He knows! He knows. He _hates _that he knows. Soul tangles his fingers in her knotted hair and runs his lips down her cheek. He laves at her jaw and teases her delectable neck with his teeth.

Maka makes a defeated noise into his hair, and he feels her knees rubbing against his sides, slowly inching off his jeans. She pants out, "Last chance," in his ear, and he groans into her shoulder as his erection grinds fruitlessly against her.

"Want you. _So __**much," **_he grits out. Soul doesn't know if she hears him (or if she does, understand), but he gives her a hurried kiss, watching her flush return for another round of sexual torture. The fever reaches all edges of her face, clouding her eyes and crawling to the tips of her breasts. He rubs himself against her one last time for the road, and throws himself away from her, because anything less than a violent exit would not be strong enough to pry him away from Maka.

His remaining clothing falls to his ankles, and he half-trips, half-dances to be free of them. He grabs his phone, which complains at being unplugged so early during its meal, and Soul stumbles out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

He leans heavily against the wood, listening to the beginnings of his meister's agony as she strains to escape his bed frame. He feels drunk. Opens his phone. Struggles to read words. Three missed calls from Nakatsukasa and a text from Elizabeth Thompson that reads "git 'er done!"

He calls Liz because he can't remember how to access his contact list with his meister making those _noises _while being held captive in his bedroom. While the line rings hollowly in his ear, Soul attempts to keep his hand away from the doorknob, settling for clutching his complaining dick instead. He tries not to think about awkward things like phone sex when Liz picks up.

"Oh _hello. _What. Need a cigarette for dessert?"

Soul rests his head on the door with a _thump_. "Blair. Need a cure," he manages to say, his head spinning wildly.

"Sorry, wrong number!"  
>"Liz, I <em>swear to God-"<em>  
>"Blair's flirting with the guy at the register, get over it. I'm surprised you haven't done her yet. It's been over an hour!"<p>

Christ, is that all? It feels like this torture has been going on for years! His anger gives him something to focus on, somewhat.

"Why the **fuck **don't you sound confused about this, or surprised?"

Soul hears various chatter and giggling in the background, and maybe a slightly worried Tsuabki. "Because I'm not," Liz quips lightly. "Look, the cure is simple. Do her, and you'll be all better. _I promise_ she won't mind."

"That's not an option," he growls into his phone, though he really just wants to throw a tantrum with how disappointed he is of that fact.

"I don't know what else to prescribe you, Sir Chastity-"  
>"Then I want a god-damned second opinion! Just put Blair on the phone."<br>"Uhg, fine. You're a hopeless case anyway!"

Liz's ranting fades into unintelligible chatter, and Soul's phone beeps loudly in his ear, warning him that he's pushing his luck. There's a loud metallic shuffling that follows, making him wince a second time.

"Nya."  
>"Blair."<br>"Scythe-boy! Oh wow, you can still _speak. _Maybe Bu-tan shoulda adjusted the spell..."

Soul's hand flies from his private parts to flail wildly at the empty hallway in front of him. "No no no no! NO. It's plenty strong- I mean, wait. Don't even _make _this shit again, Jesus!"

And then Maka howls on queue, which their roommate appears to hear on the other side of the line.

"Ohohoh~ Aww, poor Maka!"  
>"Blair, she needs a cure and it needs to <em>not <em>involve getting laid."

There's a short silence, and Soul stares at his hand in dismay as it creeps to the doorknob. "...You don't _wanna _help her?"

He grits his teeth, at wit's end. It's not a matter of what he wants! The whole thing was an accident. "**Please," **he says, his partner's whining making his body break into a sweat.

Blair sighs. "Okay scythe-boy. Do _z'actly _what Bu-tan says." He nods, even though she can't see it. She must assume he's still listening, because she continues. "You need to get in the kitchen."

Pushing off his bedroom door requires an effort that makes his vision swim. He staggers into the generic kitchen where all this insanity had begun.

"...Now what?"  
>"Open the fridge."<p>

Soul slaps a hand on the refrigerator handle, wrenching it open and picturing oddly-shaped potion bottles in his head. He sees a tub of margarine, some leftovers, a half-eaten can of tuna, and various other things that look nothing like a witch-crafted cure for perpetual arousal.

"...Okay?"  
>"Now grab the milk."<p>

He reaches in the fridge, retrieving a very empty-feeling carton. He kicks himself for drinking from it directly all the time. Soul shakes it in alarm, but gives a tiny sigh of relief when there's a faint sloshing sound.

"What else?"  
>"That's it."<p>

Soul stares incredulously at the yellow refrigerator light. "What?"

"That's it!"  
>"The cure... is <em>milk."<em>  
>"Bu-tan likes milk. And it goes with chocolate-"<p>

"**I'm gonna kill y-** _wait," _Soul's anger abruptly fizzles into dread. "H-how much milk?" Because there's like a _sip _left in the bottom of the carton, and Maka's lecture-voice berates him for never leaving enough for cereal in the morning.

"Mmm, as much as she ate, probably," the cat giggles. "A mouthful. Just enough _to swallow, _scythe-boy. You know how it is~"

Soul's knees wobble precariously in front of the fridge at the thought of pouring anything liquid and white into his meister's mouth, and he hears the Thompsons cackling in the background. "If you're pulling my leg, Blair, you're not gonna have fur by the time I'm done with you."

"Oh, there might beyaaa... small side-effect-"

He slaps his phone shut and chucks it to a kitchen counter. He's tempted to shove it in the sink and turn on the garbage disposal, but he figures he should wait until he finds out if Blair's ridiculous 'cure' actually works first before taking his anger out on electronic devices.

...Hopefully there's enough milk. Soul vows to never leave such a pitiful amount of milk in the fridge ever again, which is an easy enough promise, because Maka is totally going to destroy him after everything's said and done. He carries the carton with both hands, terrified he'll drop it and waste it if he's not careful enough. The brief thought of drinking the milk himself so he can go out and buy more runs through his mind, but his partner sounds like she's going to break through the wall with his headboard. He can't just leave her like this.

Opening his bedroom door, her scent wafts over him like a tidal wave. Soul swallows thickly, making his way over to her cringing, desperate body and climbing to rest on her stomach.

He's naked, and she mostly is too- her unlatched bra is still clinging to her shoulders- and there are so many things involving their mutual nakedness that tempts him, but he has work to do. Her smooth body bucks under him as he unfolds the spout of the cardboard milk carton in his hands.

Soul's words come out halfheartedly. "Open up, Maka." Though her lips are already parted, sighing her impatience, he puts a thumb to the corner of her mouth to gently pry it wider. Her tongue darts out to lick him without missing a beat. He grunts. "There you go. That's it." His meister's breath is like steam searing his skin. He licks his dry lips. "Good. I have something for you."

He prays that she'll hold her face still long enough that she won't accidentally knock the milk and spill the promise of sanity everywhere. Soul tips the carton against her bottom lip and watches frothy liquid trickle across her tongue.

"Drink up, Maka."

He spills a little. It dribbles down her neck and gathers in the hollows of her collar bones. Every wasted drop makes him panic a little more, and the dark, twining feeling in his gut becomes more excited at the thought of his partner _not _being immediately cured. But she swallows, the muscles in her creamy neck working and tormenting him. Sliding his thumb out of her mouth, he watches her anxiously.

There's no change. If anything, Maka squirms with more desperation. Soul hears threads stretch and snap in her scarf as she struggles, watching as her eyes clench shut and her voice becomes high-pitched and breathless. Actually, it kind of looks like she's-

"_Aaah~"_

**Oh. **The empty carton drops out of his fingers, forgotten. His hands are drawn to her shivering breasts and hardened nipples as she shudders with what he hopes is a side-effect-induced orgasm. He molds them in his hands, trying very hard to calm his blood with measured breaths and therapeutic breast-groping until his meister finally relaxes.

"My God," Maka groans, overused voice cracking with the effort, "I'm so _tired." _Her head tilts to the side, resting on one of her captive arms. She looks at him out of the corners of her eyes. "Thank you."

He does not feel like she should be thanking him with his palms on her tits, but okay. He moves them away and shields his erection from her view, though he's forced to breathe a little harder to do it. "Did it work?" he gruffly asks.

"I'm good," she says, but she blushes and he's not sure if he can trust her. She sees his wariness and makes an uncomfortable half-laugh. "Promise. My hands?"

He decides Blair had actually spoken truthfully. His own hands shake as he leans up and forward, remembering what had happened the last time he'd been in this position. Soul doesn't risk glancing down to see how close his straining cock is to her face.

"Soul, um-"

Apparently too close. He cringes at the sensation of her breath on him as she speaks. He hurriedly tugs at the knot he'd sloppily tied, but his fingers are dumb and slow.

"You... you're still- Did you not...?"

"There wasn't enough." He's grateful when her bonds are finally loose enough for her to slip her hands through. Soul leans back again, eager (but very not) to get away from her to lock himself in the bathroom again until someone shoves a saucer of milk under the door for the horny beast kept inside. But her hands shoot to him and grab him by the shoulders, bringing him back to sit on her stomach, and he worries for a horrified second that he'd made a mistake because there's no doubt in his mind that his meister would _win _this time.

"There's still... here, Soul. D-drink it." Maka's hands pull him forward, and he can't resist at all. He's done. There's nothing left to fight back with. His head is pushed to her neck and he moans, unable to stop himself from sucking and licking and tasting her. She tastes like sweat and milk, and-

Damn.

"Aah? Haaa-**fuck,** Maka, _nnngh!"_

* * *

><p>Marsh: More soon! Hope you're enjoying~<p> 


	7. Soul Gets a Clue

**Part Seven  
>Soul Gets a Clue (And a Sore Tongue)<strong>

* * *

><p>He's going to kill Blair. What kind of side-effect was that? He just came all over Maka's chest. His meister. Her naked chest<em>.<em> _All over it._ No matter how many ways he words it in his head, the truth only becomes more horrifying. He, Soul Eater Evans, is glued to his meister, _**and he had supplied the glue**__._

Soul keeps his head shoved into her neck. His haggard breath echoes loudly off her skin. He's terrified of moving an inch for several reasons:

One: He does not want to face his partner's wrath for having had an orgasm on everything between her navel and nipples.

Two: He doesn't think he can look her straight in the face anyhow.

Three: If he _does _move, their skin will peel apart and only rub in the fact that his semen is smeared between them like jam, except not nearly as part of the complete breakfast he should have fucking eaten this morning.

"...I guess I should have seen that coming," Maka croaks out, and Soul groans with humiliation, and not only because of her choice of wording. Her hair tickles his cringing face.

He does feel better, though. Sort of. His previously foggy, lust-blurred sense of awareness now feels up to reasonable standards. Unfortunately, this only makes him painfully acquainted with the awkward obstacle course that they both must pass through if they ever want to have a normal conversation in the immediate future.

"Maka, I'm really, _really_-"

His meister tenses underneath him, and her skin melds with his in new ways, which he tries not to think about else he'll have a problem that he can't blame on magically enhanced dessert. He prepares for the killing blow.

"Don't go there, f-for now. Let's just, um, get cleaned up? And dressed. And we'll _figure it out after. _Deal?"

Soul nods slightly in the crook of her neck, though he's confused beyond all belief. He's not dead, and her suggestion even seems like a safe plan for the time being. Whatever, he's not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe she's in a state of shock, or maybe the fact that the living room is still a mess is driving her clean-freak tendencies into a frenzy and she can't think straight. More likely she doesn't want her weapon to be laying on her in the nude with _his god damn semen _in between them. In any case, he's sliced through hundreds of kishin- surely he can handle a little of his own misplaced jizz if it means he gets to live longer.

With eyes slammed shut, he slowly pulls away, trying not to slide around too much. His plan is to just quickly dismount and find his pants, but for some stupid reason his eyes open against all sanity and self-preservation. Soul risks a glance to his partner's face just in time to witness her pulling the same stunt, except to his junk. Maka slaps a hand over her eyes, and Soul feels his face heat to volcanic levels. There's a small nagging urge that wants to tell her his _thing _isn't that small when he's ready for action, but then he realizes she already knows that (considering it's been in her mouth), and he doesn't know what makes him more mortified.

Perching gently on the edge of his bed because he's afraid any sudden movements might somehow make everything worse, Soul leans to the floor and grabs a hastily discarded shirt to clean up with, except it's her sweater, so he drops it like it's on fire and picks up a different shirt from his laundry pile instead. Calmly holds this behind him for her to take. Hears her thank him, voice coming out as a whispered squeak. Ends up picturing her wiping his come off with his shirt, because the sound of fabric on skin is ridiculously loud in the silence of his room.

"...Um?"

He almost turns his head to look, but remembers at the last second and focuses on his desk. "Yeah?" he replies stiffly.

"I'll just... put this in the washer."

Soul bows over, his forehead colliding into his knees. He latches his fingers together behind his neck and assumes the position of preparation for an imminent plane crash.

"I'mmatakeaquickshower," his meister spews all in one breath, her voice sounding further away and from the direction of his door. "A-and I'll fix the... the living room."

"Okay," he grits into his legs.

He doesn't move. Soul remains a statue, even as the washing machine lid clangs loudly when Maka accidentally lets it fall shut. It's only long after he hears the shower turn on that he lets his hands slide apart and dangle to the floor.

His head is _still _ringing with the sounds of their excessive foreplay from earlier, and as he wearily looks around his room, he wonders if he'll ever manage to sleep in his bed peacefully again. Well, it doesn't matter. Once Maka gets over the shock, he's a dead man anyway. With a sigh, he stands, cringing because the come on his chest is starting to dry and also because he feels like he's just run twenty laps around Shibusen. He kind of wants to take a shower too, but it's not like he's about to jump in there with his meister (no matter how much the thought makes his toes tingle). He finds his boxers and uses these to clean himself.

...Also, his tongue is sore of all things. But it was worth it- **no, **no, nothing is worth being alienated from his meister, even if eating her out had been fun as all hell. Soul curiously sticks out his tongue to test its soreness, and the thin webbing underneath the muscle complains when it rubs against his bottom teeth.

Soul decides gathering her clothes is probably the first thing he should be doing instead of reveling over the finer curiosities of oral sex that should not have occurred in the first place. He feels that turning her jeans right-side-out and folding them is a little too weird, so he just grabs all he can find of hers and wraps it up in her discarded coat like a sack. But then he finds her bra, which she must have taken off while cleaning herself, and he prays that the tingling that vibrates his spine is just an aftershock from Blair's chocolate. He shoves Maka's tit-holders in her coat and is two steps from his bedroom door when he realizes he's still naked.

Knowing his luck, Blair and her army of schemers would walk in the apartment the second he sets foot out of his room. He shucks on some fresh jeans, because the ones he'd been wearing have his meister's... cream on the front from a handful of too-close-for-comfort encounters. Heat pools in his stomach, so he hastily grabs her clothes and goes to her room, because surely something as girly as Maka's bedroom is strong enough to keep him from getting aroused for the umpteenth time today.

This is a poor plan, even though he's still sensitive and going commando in denim makes him hiss with every step, and even though her room doesn't spur any recent memories that set his blood on fire or make his heart race. It does _smell _like her though, which is almost as dangerous, and he has to back out of it the moment her clothes are tossed in the general direction of her bed.

His second agenda is to walk, slightly bow-legged, straight past the kitchen and pretend it doesn't exist. He's still pretty hungry- he'd only eaten a few licks of chocolate, an equal amount of milk, and _Maka- _but he doesn't trust anything in the kitchen anymore, especially with a milk shortage. He'll choose starvation.

In the living room, everywhere he looks bears his partner's signature. Soul treads softly, as if he's expecting a forgotten land mine to go off in the aftermath of an abandoned war zone. He pictures her way too clearly, bent over and clutching the bean bag chair, so this is the first thing he pushes back into its rightful place.

It doesn't help.

He should stop staring at it and getting lost in his vivid imagination. Soul forces himself to breathe evenly. Picks up a couch cushion. Shoves it back into the couch. Realizes the couch is crooked and shoves it back against the wall. Begins gathering books. Swears as he bashes his smallest toe on a leg of the coffee table.

"Oh."

Soul starts with a barely contained yelp. His meister is in sweat pants and a shirt that's still creased from being folded in her dresser. Water weighs her hair down, fringe falling into her eyes and bouncing whenever she blinks.

"Shower's free, obviously. If you want it."

He knows what she's saying, but he can only focus on her body language and red cheeks and how she's not decking him in the face for nearly having sex with her. His reply is delayed. "Uhh. I'll help, first."

Maka makes that awkward half-laugh again, and he thinks that's her way of relieving her internal embarrassment pressure valve. "You don't have to. Here. Let me." She walks forward, and he can't move because his fight or flight response is simply _missing. _Soul becomes very conscious of his lack of shirt, and this is worrisome because he's never given a shit before. Then again, he'd never had Maka's bare tits smashed against his before today, either.

She takes the books he'd gathered in her hands, and all he can remember are her fingers shoved underneath a bathroom door as they briefly touch his. "It's my fault anyway, so I should be the one-"

Soul gives his head a shake, scattering untimely memories, and scrutinizes his partner to see if she's actually Maka Albarn and not a faulty replacement left by aliens from another galaxy. "What?" he blurts incredulously, watching her shuffle around and picking up other books from the floor. He spies some of his oral handiwork on her neck showing through her flushing, pink skin, and he forgets what he's trying to say.

This is not cool.

"I'm the one who ripped it all apart, so," she says, as if she's stating that the sky is blue, the grass is green, and that her first pair of underwear today had little pink hearts on them.

He splutters. "T-that's not..!" Woah, wait. He needs to take a deep breath and not look like he's on the verge of blowing a gasket. Center his fucking Chi or something. "This is _not _your fault," he forces out in an almost calm drawl. "I'm the one that just stood there while you ate the damn thing..." And shouldn't she be killing him right now? She even has a stack of weapons in her hands designed for the job.

Maka places the books in a neat pile on the coffee table, though some of the pages stick out awkwardly after their earlier mistreatment. She's very good at talking to him while staring at a decorative pillow she's just picked up in her hands. "No, I must've mixed up the batches. I shouldn't have even let them in the house with their stupid plans, but it was for Tsubaki, so-"

"It was a _setup," _Soul corrects her. Now he has her attention. Her look of confusion slowly washes away the redness in her face, wide green eyes focused on him.

"What?" she questions flatly, voice filled with preemptive displeasure. Then her eyes and mouth widen in horror. "You, you- did you? Were you_ in on it?"_

Oh _shit._ "What? No! Nonono, when I called Blair, er, Liz, they already knew what was going on. There was no mix-up. They set us up. Emphasis on _**us."**_

There. That's better. His meister's face goes that particular shade of scarlet that he associates with immediate ass-kicking. "They..!" she exclaims, her chest inflating and shoulders thrown back and fists strangling the living shit out of the pillow in her grasp. Alright! Furious-Maka is in the building. They can happily soar on the wings of her fury and skip right over the part where he'd almost done her from behind. "_I told them not to butt in, those sneaky little-" _Maka violently hisses.

He's just about to tell her she's welcome to kill anyone she wants as long as he gets to choke a certain feline, but then the clouds of Soul's impending doom suddenly part. He hadn't even fully listened to his meister's words, more focused on how angrily and aghast she'd said them, but then Maka, for half a second, sends him a terrified rabbit-in-the-headlights glance before quickly looking away, as if trying to erase the sudden lapse in her anger.

Naturally, Soul winds the past five seconds back in his mind with curiosity. "Wait," he says, one eyebrow quirking upwards with an unsure frown pulling the corners of his mouth, "'butt in' to what, exactly?"

"...I'm gonna order a pizza," she responds, tactlessly dodging his question. She mashes the pillow in her hands into the couch, erasing the last traces of their almost-tryst from the living room. Maka marches away in a hasty retreat.

"Wait, Ma- uhgh."

He shouldn't be reading into it too much. He knows this. He can't stop himself. Soul's mind races with so many tidbits he hadn't taken into consideration- namely things like '_I promise she won't mind_', and '_Last chance'_, and why on earth a bunch of females decided a (sexual) intervention was needed on Maka's behalf. Hadn't their plan been about hooking up Black Star with Tsubaki?

Who was supposed to eat that truffle, and to whose benefit?

His heart makes an unsure, hopeful stutter, and he decides that now is as good a time as any for that shower. Preferably cold, and Chi-centering.

* * *

><p>Marsh: Sorry for the delayed update, guys. Two more updates today, though. Hope it makes up for everything~<p> 


	8. Maka Pulls a Fast One

**Part Eight  
>Maka Pulls a Fast One<strong>

* * *

><p>So maybe he might have made a more conscious effort than usual at smelling decent with a stick of deodorant after his shower. He just doesn't want to smell bad, that's all. Considering the abnormal circumstances one can <em>apparently <em>be shoved into when one has a magical cat as a roommate, body odor is not something a dude should have to worry about if/when anything happens involving anyone (blond, attractive, and horny) coming into close proximity.

Entering his room, Soul comes face to face with a forgotten knotted scarf hanging off his headboard like a flag claiming his land for Cursed-Chocolatey Spain. Not like he'd miraculously forgotten what had transpired in the past two hours (or ever will, for that matter), but actually finding lingering evidence refreshes the whole incident in his mind.

He also finds her boots halfway shoved underneath his bed. Takes these and the scarf to the hallway, but finds her bedroom door shut. Meanders to the kitchen table, unsure what to do with everything. Soul smells pizza and is surprised to see Maka in the middle of the kitchen, frowning at the cookie sheet containing chocolate truffles.

Soul opens his mouth to say anything, but the only thing on his tongue is some variation of 'I think you might have told your friends that you have a crush on me and they tried to get us to violently hook up for Valentine's Day', so he shuts it again because he's somehow been given a second chance at life and he doesn't want to fuck it up. Draping her scarf on the back of a chair, Soul just sits. He plops her boots on the floor, feeling guilty when the noise makes Maka jump. He pulls a slice of pizza from the box sitting on the end of the table in silence.

"Had to use your phone, by the way," she greets after a while. "It's, uh, back in your room. Plugged it in."

Right. Because hers got demolished when she tackled him to the linoleum like a feral linebacker.

"Okay." Or should he have said 'thanks'? Does it even matter? She's been in his room and had probably seen her _bondage leftovers_ still attached to his headboard. He awkwardly laughs. Soul pauses. Great, now _he's _doing it. He continues to slowly wrap dangling, stringy tendrils of cheese around his slice of pizza.

Maka pries a truffle that has dried to the pan and disparagingly tosses it into the trash bin. It hits the bottom with a loud _thud_. Soul stares at the greasy food in his hand, and though he's starving, he isn't looking forward to the taste. He's spoiled now, and it's with a sinking feeling he realizes that if it's not her skin, he doesn't really want it right now. He lets the slice slide out of his fingers to plop back into the delivery box. Soul closes the cardboard with mild disgust.

With a sigh, his arms slide off the table and into his lap, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Maka, about earlier-"

It's like she's determined to not hear him out, because her face hurriedly whips to the side to fleetingly glance at him and cut him off. "I'm really sorry I got you dragged into my mess," she gushes. Soul's mouth forms around an emphatic 'what', but extreme confusion keeps his voice hostage. "I was out of control, a-and I owe you. A lot. For, you know, looking out for me."

'Like a Complete Shit' does not begin to cover how he feels. Apparently fingering, tying up, and performing oral sex on a person who's overdosed on lust still qualifies as _looking out for someone. _The concept of 'owing him' does not sit right with his nerves. She really doesn't get it! He'd still give his left nut to be dragged and kept in her mess for all eternity. His voice escapes his throat with much difficulty and strangeness.

"Eeaauuhhh, it wasn't exactly... I don't think you understand-"

"If it had been anyone else..," she trails off, and he can't help but vehemently think that _if it had been anyone else he'd personally decapitate them without blinking. _"Just, thanks for not taking advantage."

The number her sincerity is doing to him is going to cause a guilty-conscience _aneurysm._ "Geeze, you're my meister. That's the last thing I ever wanna do to you." Why is she _thanking_ him? A dude taking advantage of that crazy situation should **not **be expected, regardless of who happens to be with her! And considering how much in-control he hadn't been, he should be getting a book to the face, not apologies and gratitude.

The next chocolate truffle Maka tosses to throw away misses the trash can and splatters on the floor. Attention from his inner turmoil is ruthlessly pulled to the mess at her feet, and Soul's eyes flit from the spilled dessert to Maka in confusion. Her face is carefully blank. Robotic, she bends to the floor to pick up the truffle and dump it into the bin. She returns to mechanically prying the next truffle off the tray.

She faintly nods. Slowly nods again with more surety. Holds in her lips and presses them into a firm line.

Crap. What did he just say? How had he said it? He sucks at this! The windows of an unnamed opportunity seem to be closing with every passing second. There's a serious misunderstanding going on, and he feels urged to blurt out, "No! I mean, fuck, I mean, aahhh," while throwing his head back to groan at the ceiling.

"Of course not," he barely hears over the roaring in his ears. Her voice gains a false shine of confidence a moment later. "I'm sure it was really hard, er, difficult! Difficult. Being forced to _want me."_

Soul can't help but remember telling her just how much he wanted her during a heated moment in his bedroom, and he abruptly decides that there can not be a single person in Death City that could be more wrong than his meister right now. Soul sits forward so quickly he gets light-headed. "Stop! Just stop. Stop talking. Stop everything."

Maka's face slides along on various points of the bewildered spectrum, finally landing somewhere between 'What Did I Do', and 'My Weapon Has Finally Lost His Sanity'. He ignores this. He's just going to get it all out in the open because if she- the one who knows him best- somehow believes that he can only be attracted to her if his blood is contaminated with feline witchcraft, then there's not much to be said about their communication skills and they should give up completely.

"Look. Listen. Whatever. You didn't eat that _thing,"_ he spits out, nodding towards the tray in her hand, "knowing what was gonna happen, right? I didn't eat it, though. I was in control. M-mostly," he amends, so the memories of bottles of lotion, bean bag chairs, and his dick in her mouth cease their complaining to his conscience. "But you really **weren't." **Maka takes this cue to blush madly and busy herself with throwing away the last of the truffles with increased speed. His face is boiling, and he watches her stall in mid-throw when he adds, "And that's not really _consensual, _you know? 'Cause it was an accident and I didn't know if what you wanted... was what you really wanted."

Great. He's killed her. He can't even tell if she's breathing. He should probably do that sometime, though. Soul forces out a breath and takes another to steady himself.

"So, don't misunderstand me. It wasn't difficult at all. Wanting you, that is."

Maka pivots on the ball of one foot to face him, because statues can't twist necks. It's amazing how aware he is of everything not important in the moment they make the first solid, meaningful eye contact in hours. He's aware of how sweaty his feet are on the hardwood floor. He's aware of how tense his shoulders are, how he probably should have put on a shirt after his shower, and how his wet hair is dripping down the back of his neck and down his spine.

He's on a roll, or maybe an avalanche, and he can't stop himself. "The hard part was resisting," he hears himself admit aloud. "But the last thing I wanna do to you, Maka, is take advantage." Not to hold her. Not to taste her mouth and touch her where he wants no one else to touch her. He wants all of these things, and if she doesn't get it by now, there's no hope for anyone, ever.

His fingers twitch and tap on the fabric of his pants underneath the table. Those unblinking, verdant eyes of hers gauge and calculate him, weighing the situation and his words and racing to a plan of action that he really hopes doesn't involve laughing in his face or running away screaming. He wonders if she's using Soul Perception on him. Wonders if that's kind of like a lie-detector. Wonders why that kind of turns him on a little.

Soul doesn't realize what's happening until it's too late. He sees her hand raise. Watches her mouth open. Feels his stomach twist into excited, horrified knots. Witnesses half of the very last truffle disappear between her lips.

"Maka, _**what-"**_

Her cheeks pink as she chews, sliding the empty cookie tray to the kitchen counter. Already wobbling from the effects, she shuffles to sit in her rightful chair directly across from him, as if she'd just popped a mint in her mouth before joining him for a friggen' dinner date. Her toes bump into his under the table. He's so high-strung that he jumps in shock, knees bashing worn wood. She places the uneaten half of the truffle between them, and the little Maka voice in the back of his head simply says '_Checkmate.'_

"Youuu just ate that," he stupidly states.

Maka nods, one hand rubbing the side of her neck as her mouth partially opens in that familiar way of being unable to breathe properly without a heaving, tempting chest.

"Willingly. Voluntarily. In, in, in_tention_ally," he rambles, voice cracking.

Another nod, her hand trailing down below his line of sight. She shifts, and he imagines her fingers wedged between burning thighs. His eyes hurt. Soul reminds himself to blink.

"W-we're out of milk, you know."

Somewhat shy, and somewhat eating him with her eyes, she fidgets uncomfortably three feet from him. "I'm aware," she says breathily. Her bottom lip is caught on the edge of her teeth for a moment before she asks in a tremulous voice, "So... what if it's not an accident, this time?"

Crap, his world is already tilting, and he hasn't even eaten anything. He nervously wets his lips.

Maka slowly leans forward, shivering and gravitating towards him, but the table keeps her at bay. "If we both eat it on purpose, that's '_consensual', _right?" Soul's senses are on overdrive, smelling her, smelling the chocolate, feeling the tips of her toes playing with his, hearing her shallow breath and the way her cotton shirt slides on the table. She wears an apprehensive but open expression. "Soul?"

"So you want to-"  
>"Yes."<br>"With _me?"_

Soul watches her choose her words. "_So __**much."**_

He doesn't need the damn chocolate. But if the woman wants him to eat it and ravage her, then by Shinigami's mask, that's what he'll do. Without further ado, he pulls his arm from under the table and slaps his hand over his meal. He's already so hot for her when he pops the truffle in his mouth, he doesn't feel anything different at all.


	9. The Idiots Get Down to Business

**Part Nine  
><strong>**The Idiots Get Down to Business**

* * *

><p>The truffle is almost the best thing he's ever tasted. He's still chewing as Maka hurriedly scoots back in her chair with a clatter like she's been impatiently waiting fifty years for Soul to join the club. He swallows as she clambers over the kitchen table. She's too impatient to go around, as uncaring as a military tank as her knee crushes the pizza box en route to him. Her hands find his wet hair, weaving in and pressing against his scalp. Lips mash forcefully into his, and it's pretty much everything he's ever wanted.<p>

This is it. This is how it should be. Nothing is going to stop him. Nothing is going to stop either of them. Well, okay, clothes might hinder them a little, but she's taking care of that, already hauling her shirt and _damn_, she's not wearing a bra. How had he not noticed? Well, he notices now, and her tits are at the perfect height for him, and she's on the kitchen table so he may as well eat.

Her nipples are perfect. Her moan is perfect. "_Ahh_," Maka breathes into his hair, "You smell good."

Oh man, he's going to have to make a charitable donation to whoever the hell makes his deodorant. "You _taste _good," he replies, though if asked, he wouldn't know how to describe how she tastes. Only non-flavor words come to mind, like smooth and windy and that tingling feeling he gets in his fingers when he thinks about the word 'partner' with more than one connotation at the same time.

"You have no idea how long I've-"

He has no desire to sit any longer. "Neither do you." His chair is shoved back as he stands, palms sliding up her hips and chest and neck to cradle her jaw in his hands, because there isn't enough time in the world to not be kissing her again. The table creaks when Maka unfolds her legs to wrap around his waist and bring him closer. He can feel her warmth through his jeans, and she makes a little gasp in his mouth when he presses his hips forward. The table moves with his effort. This will not do at all. She already has a better plan, pushing him back to slide off the table and hook her finger in a belt loop of his pants to tote him along, carelessly kicking the long-forgotten boots in her path aside. They stop at her bedroom door, and he doesn't know how his hand has managed to attach itself to her ass or when Maka had grabbed her scarf, but he squeezes and she ties the fabric to her doorknob before letting them in.

It slowly occurs to him that the scarf is a sign. A Go-The-Fuck-Away-'Cause-We're-Busy sign. Goosebumps race down his spine and he's being tugged again, the gush of air from her bedroom door being slammed behind him ruffling his hair. Soul looks over his shoulder to assure himself that, yeah, this is actually happening, and when he looks back, Maka is gone. Wait, no, she's kneeling on the floor next to her bed, digging around underneath coordinating blankets and ruffles for only Death knows. Her rear is in the air, panty-lines pressing through flannel pants, and if that's not a sign too, he doesn't know what is.

She's still searching under her bed, so he joins her on the floor and kneads her firm flesh in his eager hands. Maka squeaks, pausing in her quest, but then begins again with even more intensity.

"Soul, waita minute... I have to f-find _ohgod."_

He grins, shoving his hand further down her abdomen and underneath two waistband checkpoints. Slightly damp folds meet his fingertips, and Maka presses her face firmly into the floor with a hiccup. Soul straddles around her body, nudging his complaining arousal against her and reaching the conclusion that her shoulder blades are very edible. And her neck. And her ear.

One of her arms is still shoved under the bed, but the other sneaks between her legs. Maka's hand presses firmly on his over layers of thin cloth. She writhes, making his breath come short with the friction from her ass against his jeans. Smashing his hand, she demands more stimulation while a symphony of arousing noises escapes her mouth. Soul rubs and strokes, refreshing his memory of this recently explored area. He teases and prods around her entrance.

"Maka. Hey." His grin widens when she moans in response, turning her head to the side to look over her shoulder. "Are you listening?" Ivory skin splashed with color, she finds him with the corner of an eye between ruffled bangs. Soul wetly kisses her cheekbone. He takes the flesh around her clit gently between the edges of his fingers and slowly rolls the nub back and forth. "Come," he murmurs against her face. "Right here. Come for me?"

It's not immediate, but Maka obliges, mouth opening wide and eyebrows tilting upwards in a desperate kind of helplessness. Her fingers dig into the back of his hand as she sucks in air with high-pitched gasps, and he wonders just how high her voice can go.

And then she stops making noise completely, like she's just been launched into space and there's no atmosphere to carry her cries anymore. Her hips flex and buck as she reaches her climax in silence. For several seconds, the only sounds in the room are the small _thunk _of Maka's forehead on the floor and the erratic scrape of their clothing sliding against each other until a tiny whimper escapes and her breath is finally, raggedly released.

He could do this all day and die happily. Soul pulls his hand out of his meister's clothes, watching as she melts to the floor in a boneless heap. He wants to tell her that the past ten seconds are collectively the hottest thing he's ever seen her do, but when he opens his mouth he decides licking the sheen of sweat on her spine is more important. His partner sighs contentedly underneath him, finally pulling her arm away from the bed, grasping something orange and bringing it out into the open.

Maka sits up a little, pushing him back with her as she shakily rests on her knees. She's still panting and responsive to his touches as she digs around in a pumpkin-shaped purse or bag or whatever the hell it is. Soul is more focused on wrapping his arms around her to grasp and tease her breasts, enjoying the way her skin feels on his chest. He does not like having her attention away from him so soon, so he nips at her neck. "Makaaa," he complains, taking tender flesh between his teeth. His meister shivers, but continues her rummaging.

"Just a... 'sec. Gotta find- ahah!" Unfortunately, whatever the shit she's found makes her so jubilant that her shoulder bashes him in the face.

"**Owgeezus," **Soul grits into his hands, reeling backwards and gingerly protecting his jaw from further abuse. That shoulder has been out for his life since this whole thing has begun!

Maka is half-laughing and half-apologizing as she crawls into his lap, babbling things about having to dig through Blair's stuff for condoms. Soul realizes his only option is to forgive her weird mash-up of horny and practical and adorable as she gently pries his hands away from his aching face and leaves little apologetic kisses all over. Her arms are thrown around his neck and all he can do is stupidly smile, because there's a half-naked bundle of girl and woman and warrior all over him, and not even two hours ago he'd been despairing over never being able to be this close with Maka ever again. It dawns on him that _this won't the last time, either. _They can do this again, whenever they feel like it, because they want each other and he'll always be with her, and now she's smiling too because she's caught his grin from him kissing it so much.

"We're idiots," he informs her against her lips, and she just nods, moving her face to his neck. He feels her tongue taste him, and his cock reminds him that his pants are still on and are becoming tighter every moment his partner's body rubs against his.

His hands trail down her spine and toy with the waistband of her pants. Do they even need the bed? They're right next to it, that's close enough... But Maka feels otherwise, grabbing his hands and forcing him to stand. She herds him backwards to her bed, and when he sits on it with a flop, she guides him to her roll the last of her clothing down toned thighs to pool at her feet.

Okay, the bed is a good idea. It feels better on his spine than the floor and Maka's girly pillows prop up his craning neck to watch her stalk over him, her hair grazing up his chest. He gets a perfect view of her hand sliding in his pants.

It had been damn hot when she'd tried to molest him earlier, but now that he doesn't need to resist it's ridiculously more enjoyable. Soul jerks and twitches as her fingers glide over his sensitive skin. He spends most of his time trying to take deep, calming breaths, but he fails at a lot of it- when she gently tugs on him he ends up hissing and gasping instead. He wants to touch her. He wants to take off his pants. He settles for frantically undoing his fly and grasping her warm thighs to satiate his cravings. Ah, but she's moving out of his reach! Though now her mouth is on one of his nipples and that's an acceptable trade. Soul's heart begins to gallop as she trails further down his body- a nip at his stomach, a kiss beneath his navel, a faint lick up his shaft...

A frustrated groan falls out of his mouth, feeling teased and annoyed as Maka pulls his jeans off his hips. Now they're finally both naked, and he watches her kneel between his legs and give him a wet swipe from base to tip like an apology before resting on her heels and hurriedly tearing at a condom wrapper with her hands.

Maka makes an unsure noise, holding a rolled-up circle of latex between her fingers. She gives him a needy and exasperated glance, and he doesn't know whether to touch himself or laugh. He sits up as says, "Um, Soul? Help, I have _no _idea-"

Well, he doesn't exactly have experience with condoms either, but he's pretty sure it only goes on one way. "Like this," he says, guiding her hands to his erection. "...Probably." He's close enough to press his lips to her chin as they unroll it on him, his teeth grinding at the snug fit and her gentle fingers.

Alright. No more distractions! His body thrums with uncontainable excitement, and he gives her no trouble at all, flopping once more to his back with only a small palm on his chest and a smoldering green glance. Maka's body shifts and stretches, lifting first one leg to the outside of his hips, and then the other. She lowers her weight on him, but he's dismayed that she hasn't guided him inside.

...This is okay too. For now. Heat seeps around him, the underside of his dick captured neatly between Maka's outer folds as she traps him between their bodies. The pressure from her bearing down on him fries his mind with burning sparks. Her hips move forward and back, her hands taking his and sliding them up her smooth torso to her tits. He plucks at her nipples, teasing the solid beads with his fingertips.

The wet noises her skin makes against him become more pronounced and rhythmic with every grind. Soul realizes he's never thought of his dick being humped in any other way than the Usual Way, but he thinks if he's given enough time (which, at this rate, is probably not that much) and he starts fantasizing about scythe shafts and mini skirts, he could just as easily get off this way too.

_"Mm, _does it feel good? Soul."

Actually, the fantasizing isn't needed. **Actually, **she should stop or he's going to lose his load. Soul makes a worried grunt, bringing his hands to her hips and stilling her. "Maka," he sucks in air between his teeth, "Here. We should..." He pulls her body forward so their chests come together and his cock is freed, the tip resting against her flesh.

Their faces are surrounded by a messy curtain of her hair. They breathe in each other, grazing lips together as Maka slowly pushes herself on his arousal. But she stops. Adjusts her hips. Tries again. They shift with embarrassed frustration. He can't feel where he's supposed to go with the condom on.

Tilting her weight to one side and snaking her arm between their bodies, Maka carefully positions him. Her voice is an airy whisper. "There. That's... _ah!" _Her eyes dart to his, first wide with surprise one moment, then narrowed to cloudy slits the next. Her lips purse around a small 'ooh', and the sound tastes delicious in his mouth. The tip of his cock is tightly squeezed inside, and he hums at the familiar sensation of melting.

Abruptly, his meister pushes away from his chest, plants her hands firmly on his stomach, and focuses her attention on the point where their bodies meet. Watching her cautiously lower herself a little further on to him, Soul parts her hair to the side, flipping it over her shoulder because it's in the way and he wants to see too. And it's true, it's halfway in. No, _he's _halfway in, disappearing in _her,_ and now almost out, and now in again, his partner hissing as she leans back to sit completely upright and slowly accept him completely.

This is insane. How can any part of his body fit into such a small space? This should not be possible. She's amazing. Her body is amazing. He tells her this repeatedly, feeling her legs quiver around him. Maka slightly hunches over, moaning with her head bowed. Her insides grip him and twitch at random- she's so _warm! _Soul runs his hands down her thighs, then over his stomach to rest atop her trembling hands.

"Does it hurt?" he rasps out, his toes digging into her blankets. Her long hair sways and tickles him as she shakes her head. This is great news, because he can't stop himself from pressing his hips up into her any more. "Is it good?" Maka answers his slow, involuntary thrusts with a mewl, her lower body gloriously coming to life. She grinds back and forth, mimicking her earlier actions but with him encased inside.

He doesn't know who's controlling his body anymore, because it's certainly not himself. There is only the sight of his meister rocking and sliding in his lap, the bone-crushing grip she has on his fingers as he holds up his hands for her balance, and the feeling of all of his nerves burning brightly like light filaments. Soul can't tell which of their voices is his- all the moaning and gasping has jumbled together into an incomprehensible white noise of sex, and he can't be bothered with sorting it all out.

Maka's enveloping heat twining around him is addictive, but he wants to participate! She's tiring though, sweaty and panting heavily, so he takes this opportunity to sit up and take matters into his own hands. He plans on flipping them over, but he's distracted by her tits in his face and how he's able to grasp her by her warm ass and move Maka himself. Continues this until he's gone nearly deaf in one ear and the muscles in his arms are on fire. Keeps going anyway, driving her hips into his lap, wondering if she'll come before she pulls all the hair out of his scalp.

She doesn't. He almost does though, and he shakily halts everything until his vision clears. His heart is on the brink of painfully detonating, complaining about his lungs and how he can't use them quickly enough. Soul rests, laving at Maka's collar bones until she squirms anxiously, eager enough to start moving herself again.

"Soul, _more~" _

His body responds to her voice more obediently than his brain. Finally he gets around to flipping them over, and he learns that moving around while keeping his dick in her requires finesse and experience that he does not currently possess. But that's fine, even if she whines from his absence, because he'll cultivate his experience over time with her, and he has the added bonus of fully watching her face as he sinks between her legs once more.

There's no way in hell he's going to last long. The only thing saving him now is Maka trying to find a more comfortable place for her legs every few thrusts. Sometimes they're around his waist, sometimes they're stretched out and hooked over his thighs, sometimes they could be on the god damn moon. It doesn't matter what she does with them because she's writhing and staring into his eyes, with only a chorus of 'Ah, haah, _**haah' **_leaving her mouth.

Soul wants to tell her just how mind-numbingly good it is inside her, but he can't, because it _is. _That being said, Maka breaks this barrier by shocking him into a whopping three syllables, milking a "Holy shit!" out of him. She'd been moving along with him, trying to match his hips, but he hadn't realized quite how much until he stops, watching her chest and abs and pelvis dance. The movement is almost serpentine, using her legs as leverage to move her soaking pussy along his shaft. Figures... his meister _would_ find a way to ride him somehow while still being on bottom.

He can't deal with this anymore. She's too hot and too endearing and too _much. _Soul moves with her, diving deeply and letting the relentless pleasure close in on him. Maka pulls his face close, pressing her cheek to his and crying encouragements he can't understand. Soul silently apologizes in the back of his mind, because his blood has turned to napalm and he's going to come and nothing can stop it this time. But maybe the apology isn't needed, because as his body turns itself inside out, he deliriously pries open his eyes to see Maka losing herself, crazy hip-jerking and all.

* * *

><p>Marsh: Eventually- an omake.<p> 


End file.
